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- Джон Фоулз
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We
had
an
argument
this
evening
about
his
money
.
I
said
he
ought
to
give
most
of
it
away
.
I
tried
to
shame
him
into
giving
some
away
.
But
he
won
’
t
trust
anything
.
That
’
s
what
’
s
really
wrong
with
him
.
Like
my
man
in
Hampstead
,
he
doesn
’
t
trust
people
to
collect
money
and
use
it
for
the
purpose
they
say
they
will
.
He
thinks
everyone
is
corrupt
,
everyone
tries
to
get
money
and
keep
it
.
It
’
s
no
good
my
saying
I
know
it
’
s
used
for
the
right
purpose
.
He
says
,
how
do
you
know
?
And
of
course
I
can
’
t
tell
him
.
I
can
only
say
I
feel
sure
—
it
must
go
where
it
’
s
needed
.
Then
he
smiles
as
if
I
’
m
too
naïve
to
have
any
right
on
my
side
.
I
accused
him
(
not
very
bitterly
)
of
not
having
sent
the
CND
cheque
.
I
challenged
him
to
produce
a
receipt
.
He
said
the
gift
was
anonymous
,
he
hadn
’
t
sent
his
address
.
It
was
on
the
tip
of
my
tongue
to
say
,
I
shall
go
and
find
out
when
I
’
m
free
.
But
I
didn
’
t
.
Because
it
would
be
one
more
reason
for
him
not
to
set
me
free
.
He
was
red
,
I
’
m
sure
he
was
lying
,
as
he
lied
about
the
letter
to
D
and
M
.
It
’
s
not
so
much
a
lack
of
generosity
—
a
real
miserliness
.
I
mean
(
forgetting
the
absurdity
of
the
situation
)
,
he
is
generous
to
me
.
He
spends
hundreds
of
pounds
on
me
.
He
’
d
kill
me
with
kindness
.
With
chocolates
and
cigarettes
and
food
and
flowers
.
I
said
I
’
d
like
some
French
perfume
the
other
evening
—
it
was
just
a
whim
,
really
,
but
this
room
smells
of
disinfectant
and
Airwick
.
I
have
enough
baths
,
but
I
don
’
t
feel
clean
.
And
I
said
I
wished
I
could
go
and
sniff
the
various
scents
to
see
which
I
liked
best
.
He
came
in
this
morning
with
fourteen
different
bottles
.
He
’
d
ransacked
all
the
chemists
’
shops
.
It
’
s
mad
.
Forty
pounds
’
worth
.
It
’
s
like
living
in
the
Arabian
Nights
.
Being
the
favourite
in
the
harem
.
But
the
one
perfume
you
really
want
is
freedom
.
If
I
could
put
a
starving
child
before
him
and
give
it
food
and
let
him
watch
it
grow
well
,
I
know
he
’
d
give
money
.
But
everything
beyond
what
he
pays
for
and
sees
himself
get
is
suspicious
to
him
.
He
doesn
’
t
believe
in
any
other
world
but
the
one
he
lives
in
and
sees
.
He
’
s
the
one
in
prison
;
in
his
own
hateful
narrow
present
world
.
November
12th
The
last
night
but
one
.
I
daren
’
t
think
about
it
,
about
not
escaping
.
I
’
ve
kept
reminding
him
,
recently
.
But
now
I
feel
I
should
have
sprung
it
on
him
more
or
less
suddenly
.
Today
I
decided
that
I
would
organize
a
little
party
tomorrow
night
.
I
shall
say
I
feel
differently
towards
him
,
that
I
want
to
be
his
friend
and
lameduck
him
in
London
.
It
won
’
t
be
altogether
a
lie
,
I
feel
a
responsibility
towards
him
that
I
don
’
t
really
understand
.
I
so
often
hate
him
,
I
think
I
ought
to
forever
hate
him
.
Yet
I
don
’
t
always
.
My
pity
wins
,
and
I
do
want
to
help
him
.
I
think
of
people
I
could
introduce
him
to
.
He
could
go
to
Caroline
’
s
psychiatrist
friend
.
I
’
d
be
like
Emma
and
arrange
a
marriage
for
him
,
and
with
happier
results
.
Some
little
Harriet
Smith
,
with
whom
he
could
be
mousy
and
sane
and
happy
.
